


Books Actually

by rapunzel713



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Christmas, Gen, I don't think the Protective Aziraphale tag works here, References to Jane Austen, based on that one scene in Love Actually, but technically he's Protective of his books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:49:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28199424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapunzel713/pseuds/rapunzel713
Summary: It's two days before Christmas, and the last thing Aziraphale wants to do is actually sell one of his books. But he's faced with a very determined customer.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Books Actually

It wasn’t the _last_ thing he wanted to hear an hour before closing the shop two days before Christmas — but it was close.

“Hey, you got any Jane Austen?”

Aziraphale finally shelved the Keats he had been reading and leaned around the bookcase. A middle-aged man appeared to have been blown into the shop by an ill wind that left his trenchcoat flapping at his legs. He hefted a briefcase in one hand and a mobile in the other. A Thoroughly Modern Milo.

The angel shrugged into his customary customer service demeanor, complete with an unwelcoming stare and The Customer is Hardly Right Smile. “Austen. Yes. You’ll find her toward the back.” He waved a vague hand. His well-known authors, like Miss Austen, were purposefully difficult to find.

Milo grunted. “Can you show me? I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Fiddlesticks. “Of - of course. Right this way.” He budged down the next aisle and made a show of Searching the Shelves as they made their way through the shop toward his Austen collection. Milo’s frustrated sighs and occasional throat clearing were a welcome soundtrack.

Oh, that reminded him. Crowley had promised to lend him some bebop records to “try out.” He wasn’t entirely convinced it would be worth the effort, but one never knew…

“Ah,” he exclaimed dramatically as if he hadn’t known where the books lived all along, “here we are!”

Milo practically shoved him out of the way as he quickly scanned the shelves. Really, there was no need for such behavior.

“Did you have a particular novel in mind?” Aziraphale asked in his most Annoyingly Helpful voice. “Or perhaps you would be interested in her unfinished works? I believe _Lady Susan_ is vastly underappreciated, even among ‘Austenites’! As it happens, I —”

“Don’t you have any boxed sets?”

Aziraphale’s smile faltered. “Boxed?”

“Yeah. You know, all of her books in a set?”

“No,” he said slowly. “This is a _used_ bookshop, you see, and —”

“Alright, I’ll just get the Darcy one, then. She’s mad for Darcy.”

He roughly grabbed a first edition of _Persuasion —_ Aziraphale winced — and strode back down the aisle.

In the work of a moment, Aziraphale debated whether it was better to leave him to his ignorance. After all, if Milo _did_ make it all the way to actually purchasing the book, whoever he bought it for might prefer to return the incorrect volume. However, his pedantic side won out, as it always inevitably did.

“If you’re looking for Mr. Darcy, my dear boy, you’ll want _Pride and Prejudice_.”

Milo had already returned to his phone, the precious _Persuasion_ shoved up against the handle of the briefcase, and barely heeded the bookshop owner. “Yeah, I know. He’s in the one that begins with a P.”

“ _Pride and Prejudice_ begins with a P,” Aziraphale grumbled.

Instead of joining Milo at the register, he pretended to have forgotten his next task in the Purchasing Flowchart. He bustled away, intending to circle around to the stairs to the upper level of the shop to disappear for at least forty minutes, that was usually long enough for the customer to give up on him and leave book-out-of-hand. And by then Crowley might have returned from his Ex-Demon Independent Wiles Project -- which Aziraphale was fairly certain was code for Napping in the Flat — and they could go out for dinner at the new Mediterranean place down the street, or perhaps they could get sushi, or, oh, the Ritz had introduced the most delectable duck confit —

“Hey!” Milo called from the front. “I’m ready to check out here.”

Aziraphale abandoned his attempted menu planning and circled back to the front. Milo stood at the counter, tapping his foot to passive-aggressively telegraph to Aziraphale that he was wasting the man’s time. The man tried to clear his throat again, and it turned into a cough.

“Oh dear!” cried Aziraphale, seizing the excuse to stall. “You know, if we were in Bath, I could ask if you had taken the waters yet. In Jane Austen’s time, and well before that actually, the water in Bath was believed to contain healing properties, and those who were ill would flock to the city to partake in drinking the water from the natural hot springs. You can still try it today but I must warn you, it is quite foul. Tastes like sulphur.”

Milo finally seemed to realize that Aziraphale hadn’t moved to check him out. “Yeah, sure. How much for the book?”

Aziraphale named an extravagant price. When Milo squawked, the angel added, “Well, it _is_ a first edition.”

“Ugh. Fine. Fine, whatever. Here.” He held out a black credit card.

“Oh, I’m sorry, we don’t take cards.”

Milo looked about to protest, then seemed to take in the ancient register on the counter. “Let me guess, no checks either.”

“No. Cash only,” said Aziraphale. And if his voice was a little smug, who could blame him. This particular rule had thwarted many a purchase in this day and age.

At this point, Aziraphale’s more determined customers would ask for the nearest cash machine — “oh dear, I can’t _imagine_ where the closest one might be” — and they would leave in failure and his books would be safe. 

But Milo didn’t leave. Instead he started grumbling about “daylight robbery” — really, an angel would _never —_ and dug through his wallet. As large pound note after large pound note landed on the counter, Aziraphale felt himself begin to wilt. Milo had come prepared, it seemed. He might be forced to say goodbye to his lovely _Persuasion_ after all.

Unless… 

“Would you like it gift-wrapped?” he asked brightly. “It’s complimentary.”

Milo was still shelling out pound notes and paying more attention to his phone than Aziraphale. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Oh, _lovely_.

Aziraphale reached under the counter for the wrapping paper that hadn’t existed a moment before. The design was similar to paper he had seen in the Victorian era, with beautiful angels in long white robes holding Christmas boughs. He didn’t take his time to wrap the book so much as he worked meticulously, making every crease of the paper straight and sharp.

At some point, Milo had finished creating his rather large pile of notes on the counter. His attention was wholly on his phone, foot tapping away. 

Aziraphale took advantage of his distraction to reach under the counter again and withdraw a long tartan ribbon. 

The wide movement must have caught Milo’s attention, because the man looked up, scowl in place. “Oh, I don’t need —”

“Nonsense, dear boy, won’t take but a moment.” He wrapped the ribbon around the book and pulled a snug bow.

Milo reached out to take the book, but Aziraphale tucked it into a white box filled with crepe paper and secured the lid.

“That’s not necessary,” Milo began, and Aziraphale was delighted to hear that he was gritting his teeth.

“Almost done,” said Aziraphale, grabbing another length of tartan ribbon. As he slung the ribbon over the corners of the box, he debated what else he could get away with. Taking the box into the back to look for an appropriate bag could eat up as much time as he wished, and hopefully Milo would despair of waiting for the eccentric, bumbling shopkeeper and — 

The door opened again, sweeping in more cold air and a disgruntled woman overburdened with shopping bags. Before Aziraphale could suppress a sigh and say he’d be with her shortly, she lit up with recognition. “Alan! I thought that was you!”

Milo — or, Alan — spun around to face the woman and put a bit of distance between himself and the counter. The money had disappeared, likely swept into his coat pocket. “Emma,” he said, sounding far less enthused than she did, “finished your shopping, yeah?”

“Most of it, anyway. I saw you through the door and I was so surprised, I’ve never even seen this shop open before, and —” Her eyes caught on the box Aziraphale had paused wrapping. “Oh! Did you find something?”

“Nope!” he blurted, just as Aziraphale offered his own cheery denial. “Just talking to the...cashier, here.”

“About Bath,” Aziraphale added.

“Oh. That’s nice,” said Emma, adjusting her grip on the bags. “In that case, we’d better get a move on, yeah? I told my mother we’d only be gone two hours.”

Without another word to Aziraphale, Alan began herding Emma back into the street, taking some of the bulkier bags from her. She called a belated “Merry Christmas!” to Aziraphale right before the door closed on them.

Emma’s timing was, well, miraculous. It seemed _Persuasion_ had escaped sale after all. 

Aziraphale immediately closed up the shop — he didn’t want to chance losing any more books to determined customers — and freed _Persuasion_ from its many-layered wrapping. He ran a hand over the red and gold cover. Despite Alan’s manhandling, it didn’t appear any worse for wear.

With a contented sigh, Aziraphale returned _Persuasion_ to its proper place. “Don’t worry, my dear,” he murmured as it slid between its fellows. “I know better than to let Anne Elliot get away.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that is a dig at Captain Wentworth. ;)
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
